I'm not sure that I should actually post this or start this since I have no idea where it's going, if anywhere at all. I suppose, though, since I haven't posted anything is a while anything is better than the silence. So, here is a rough start to something that actually has no title, but I'm going to refer to as The Dreamlands because I'm lame and can't think up good titles. Suffer. I think this intro. is more along the lines of stories that I usually write. My last one was a little more depressing than what I usually do. So, here goes.
*
Alana stood in the middle of a rocky gray wasteland. Looking around she could see nothing for miles except rocks. Flat, round, gray rocks that blended into the horizon because the sky was the same grayish color. She couldn't see the sun even though the sky was completely cloudless, but she wasn't concerned about it. Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was telling her that that was completely normal. She looked down at her arms and noticed that her skin had a grayish hue to it like everything else in this place seemed to. Dreams are weird. She thought. She was in the Dreamlands again. She couldn't actually remember the last time she was here or why, but she knew where she was, was called the Dreamlands. She also knew this was not a normal dream. She shouldn't know she was dreaming and not be partially aware of her body lying comfortably in her bed. She shouldn't know this place had a name at all. Why am I here this time? She wondered. That’s when the walls of bookshelves appeared off to her left. They hadn’t been there a moment before, but she wasn’t too surprised to see them there now. She walked towards the shelves knowing something was leading her there. She should probably know what was leading her in this direction by now. Afer all, she had been here before and she wasn’t surprised by anything, so she should know what was going on, but it seemed to have slipped her mind temporarily. It would come back to her soon.
She reached the books and looked around. The shelves were wide and tall made of a heavy oak and stained dark, almost black. They were tightly crammed from top to bottom, left to right, with books of various shapes and sizes and a multitude of colors. Some of the books looked ancient and others looked liked they were brand-new, never been opened. She skimmed the titles and was surprised that she could read many of the titles. Normally, she was unable to read in dreams. The symbols that were normally recognized as letters could not be comprehended by her dream self, but this dream wasn’t normal…. And yet it was completely familiar. When she looked up from the titles of the books she could see the room had swallowed her up. Now, there were walls and windows with heavy draperies blocking out the gray wasteland. There was a fireplace in one corner with a heatless fire blazing within the grate. There were two chairs on either side of the fireplace and she felt the need to move towards one of the chairs and sit down, but she stopped herself. She didn’t want to sit down; something was pushing her to sit down. She sighed heavily and announced to the empty room, “Either show yourself and tell me what you want or let me alone to do what I want here.”
“I always love that about you, Alana,” the deep and melodious voice replied, “You can always sense me even when I’m not visible.” And he became visible at that moment. His long fingers were curled over one of her shoulders and the other hand was pressed in the small of her back. He was leading her forward to one of the two chairs. He gestured for her to take a seat and as she did she noticed she was now wearing a silky, maroon, floor length gown. Her arms were no longer the grayish hue that the wasteland outside had given them. Instead they were the pale milky white that she was used to in her waking life. She looked up at the man who had led her here and was, once again, not surprised to see a familiar, yet entirely unknown face. She knew him well, but could not name him or say where they had met before. “I know you,” she stated more as a fact than a question, but her tone still sounded slightly baffled.
“Yes, you know me,” he took a seat in the other chair. His clothes were head to toe gray like the wastelands outside. Loose layers of cotton and linen draped over his body reminding Alana of a traditional Indian costume, except instead of the colorful creations she was used to seeing, his clothes were varying drab shades of gray. His skin was several shades lighter than her own pale skin making Alana think of the most recent vampire movie she had seen. It was unnatural, but it suited someone who could vanish and appear at will, like a ghost. His hair was shaggy black with random tufts sticking out hear and there, a look that was now referred to as bed-head. His dark locks barely brushed the collar of his shirt. His eyes matched his hair making a very dramatic impression and look all that much more unnatural. Other than that, his features were average. He could be anyone with a few minor alterations and she wondered for a moment if he could alter his appearance as easily as he vanished and reappeared. “No matter how hard you try you will not remember my name or where we have met before,” his comment suggested that she was staring at him and that she should probably stop.
“Sorry,” she said without any embarrassment. Her dream self was far more confident than her waking self. “So, are you going to tell me how I know you and what I’m doing here? Are you the Dream King or something?”
He laughed and it was almost musical like his voice. “I’m a guardian of the Dreamlands,” he explained still smiling, “One of several guardians. You’ve been here many times and each time you are here, you remember a little more.”
“I’ve never been here. I would remember this place,” she insisted even though, as she said it, she knew it was a lie. She recognized this place and him. She knew he was here even before he became visible to her. She had sat in this chair before and she had even browsed through some of the books on his shelves.
“You’re trying to recall your time here from your memory banks, but it will not be there because you are in the Dreamlands. Memories are for the waking world.,” he explained.
She knew she had heard this speech many times before and she felt a twinge of embarrassment for having to listen to it again and for arguing, “But I remember dreams sometimes.”
“Only fragments and never accurately. Plus most dreams take place in another part of the Dreamlands. You are in my domain now. Normal dreamers are never brought here,” he explained. Even though he had told her this many times he didn’t seem frustrated about having to repeat himself again. Definitely unnatural or at least inhuman. No one was this indifferent to having to repeat themselves.
She reached the books and looked around. The shelves were wide and tall made of a heavy oak and stained dark, almost black. They were tightly crammed from top to bottom, left to right, with books of various shapes and sizes and a multitude of colors. Some of the books looked ancient and others looked liked they were brand-new, never been opened. She skimmed the titles and was surprised that she could read many of the titles. Normally, she was unable to read in dreams. The symbols that were normally recognized as letters could not be comprehended by her dream self, but this dream wasn’t normal…. And yet it was completely familiar. When she looked up from the titles of the books she could see the room had swallowed her up. Now, there were walls and windows with heavy draperies blocking out the gray wasteland. There was a fireplace in one corner with a heatless fire blazing within the grate. There were two chairs on either side of the fireplace and she felt the need to move towards one of the chairs and sit down, but she stopped herself. She didn’t want to sit down; something was pushing her to sit down. She sighed heavily and announced to the empty room, “Either show yourself and tell me what you want or let me alone to do what I want here.”
“I always love that about you, Alana,” the deep and melodious voice replied, “You can always sense me even when I’m not visible.” And he became visible at that moment. His long fingers were curled over one of her shoulders and the other hand was pressed in the small of her back. He was leading her forward to one of the two chairs. He gestured for her to take a seat and as she did she noticed she was now wearing a silky, maroon, floor length gown. Her arms were no longer the grayish hue that the wasteland outside had given them. Instead they were the pale milky white that she was used to in her waking life. She looked up at the man who had led her here and was, once again, not surprised to see a familiar, yet entirely unknown face. She knew him well, but could not name him or say where they had met before. “I know you,” she stated more as a fact than a question, but her tone still sounded slightly baffled.
“Yes, you know me,” he took a seat in the other chair. His clothes were head to toe gray like the wastelands outside. Loose layers of cotton and linen draped over his body reminding Alana of a traditional Indian costume, except instead of the colorful creations she was used to seeing, his clothes were varying drab shades of gray. His skin was several shades lighter than her own pale skin making Alana think of the most recent vampire movie she had seen. It was unnatural, but it suited someone who could vanish and appear at will, like a ghost. His hair was shaggy black with random tufts sticking out hear and there, a look that was now referred to as bed-head. His dark locks barely brushed the collar of his shirt. His eyes matched his hair making a very dramatic impression and look all that much more unnatural. Other than that, his features were average. He could be anyone with a few minor alterations and she wondered for a moment if he could alter his appearance as easily as he vanished and reappeared. “No matter how hard you try you will not remember my name or where we have met before,” his comment suggested that she was staring at him and that she should probably stop.
“Sorry,” she said without any embarrassment. Her dream self was far more confident than her waking self. “So, are you going to tell me how I know you and what I’m doing here? Are you the Dream King or something?”
He laughed and it was almost musical like his voice. “I’m a guardian of the Dreamlands,” he explained still smiling, “One of several guardians. You’ve been here many times and each time you are here, you remember a little more.”
“I’ve never been here. I would remember this place,” she insisted even though, as she said it, she knew it was a lie. She recognized this place and him. She knew he was here even before he became visible to her. She had sat in this chair before and she had even browsed through some of the books on his shelves.
“You’re trying to recall your time here from your memory banks, but it will not be there because you are in the Dreamlands. Memories are for the waking world.,” he explained.
She knew she had heard this speech many times before and she felt a twinge of embarrassment for having to listen to it again and for arguing, “But I remember dreams sometimes.”
“Only fragments and never accurately. Plus most dreams take place in another part of the Dreamlands. You are in my domain now. Normal dreamers are never brought here,” he explained. Even though he had told her this many times he didn’t seem frustrated about having to repeat himself again. Definitely unnatural or at least inhuman. No one was this indifferent to having to repeat themselves.
“Isn’t it a little counter productive to bring me here over and over again when I can’t remember you one time to the next?” her lip curled ever so slightly into a sneer, “I mean, surely, you’ll waste all your time explaining everything to me and then I’ll wake up and you’ll have to start all over again tomorrow night.”
“Like I told you a moment ago, each time you are here you remember a little more. I’ve got all the time in the world,” he replied seriously.
“But I don’t,” sadness welled up in her chest, “If I only remember fragments each time how long will it take for me to do whatever it is you keep bringing me here for?”
“Now, you see that’s what I like to hear!” he replied enthusiastically, “You see. Normally I have to point out that fact to you, but this time you got it on your own. One of these days I’ll finally be able to convince you to stay here.”
“If I stay here, what happens to my real self?” she countered, “Am I in a coma? Do I die?” In a blink he was in front of her. His nose almost touching her own. His fingers were digging into her shoulders painfully. It was the oddest sensation she had ever felt in a dream. Pain usually woke her up or it just didn’t exist. This felt real. Suddenly a voice came to her out of the fogginess of her mind. This is your real self!
“This is your real self, Alana!” finally repeating himself had frustrated him. Maybe he wasn’t as unnatural as she had originally thought.
Stay here and help me!
This is real!
I need you to help me!
Staccato flashes in her mind. A flood of images blurring too quickly for her to grasp on any one picture. In each instant she saw his face swimming in front of her much like this moment. He was reaching out to her, trying to help her, but she was frozen and sinking away from him. All you have to do is reach out to me! Not this time. Sorry. It was gone. A buzzer seemed to go off in her brain. Time’s up! She lifted one hand towards him, but he was already gone. The chair had already vanished when she had stopped looking at it. She stood up and turned towards the far window. Now all she could see was the rocky horizon again. She spun around, but the books and the shelves they had sat on had already gone. She was alone in a rocky wasteland and her arms held out in front of her turned to an ashy gray. I almost had you that time.
Alana was standing in front of her full-length mirror putting the finishing touches of makeup on her lips. She froze for a moment feeling as though she had just been doing something far more important than getting ready for work. She glanced back at her clock radio that was blaring the morning radio show of her choice. “I did! I almost got you that time!” someone was shouting out of the radio. She had no idea what the morning show had been discussing, but apparently she had almost got him that time. Too bad. She was going to be late for work if she didn’t get moving.
“Like I told you a moment ago, each time you are here you remember a little more. I’ve got all the time in the world,” he replied seriously.
“But I don’t,” sadness welled up in her chest, “If I only remember fragments each time how long will it take for me to do whatever it is you keep bringing me here for?”
“Now, you see that’s what I like to hear!” he replied enthusiastically, “You see. Normally I have to point out that fact to you, but this time you got it on your own. One of these days I’ll finally be able to convince you to stay here.”
“If I stay here, what happens to my real self?” she countered, “Am I in a coma? Do I die?” In a blink he was in front of her. His nose almost touching her own. His fingers were digging into her shoulders painfully. It was the oddest sensation she had ever felt in a dream. Pain usually woke her up or it just didn’t exist. This felt real. Suddenly a voice came to her out of the fogginess of her mind. This is your real self!
“This is your real self, Alana!” finally repeating himself had frustrated him. Maybe he wasn’t as unnatural as she had originally thought.
Stay here and help me!
This is real!
I need you to help me!
Staccato flashes in her mind. A flood of images blurring too quickly for her to grasp on any one picture. In each instant she saw his face swimming in front of her much like this moment. He was reaching out to her, trying to help her, but she was frozen and sinking away from him. All you have to do is reach out to me! Not this time. Sorry. It was gone. A buzzer seemed to go off in her brain. Time’s up! She lifted one hand towards him, but he was already gone. The chair had already vanished when she had stopped looking at it. She stood up and turned towards the far window. Now all she could see was the rocky horizon again. She spun around, but the books and the shelves they had sat on had already gone. She was alone in a rocky wasteland and her arms held out in front of her turned to an ashy gray. I almost had you that time.
Alana was standing in front of her full-length mirror putting the finishing touches of makeup on her lips. She froze for a moment feeling as though she had just been doing something far more important than getting ready for work. She glanced back at her clock radio that was blaring the morning radio show of her choice. “I did! I almost got you that time!” someone was shouting out of the radio. She had no idea what the morning show had been discussing, but apparently she had almost got him that time. Too bad. She was going to be late for work if she didn’t get moving.
*
Eh, it's a start. Whether it's worth continuing or not is yet to be determined. I guess you'll find out what I decided if you ever see another section in my blog sometime in the future. Talk to you later.
